


Fool For You

by sheerrloockk



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: April Fools' Day, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerrloockk/pseuds/sheerrloockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you… Do you know what today is?” asked John quietly.</p><p>“You just said, April first,” said Sherlock.</p><p>“Well, yeah, but do you know what April first is?”</p><p>“Um… Well, this year it’s a Tuesday,” said Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool For You

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Fool For You | 痴痴为你](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202956) by [yikshuontheroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikshuontheroad/pseuds/yikshuontheroad)



> I wrote this at like, 3 am and trucked it out because I had a plotbunny that had to be explored. Also bad smut, oh well. :) I figured Sherlock would be culturally tone deaf enough to delete April Fools' Day.

It was a conundrum, truly.

 

Sherlock Holmes hadn’t moved from his position on the sofa for nearly eight hours, and certainly bodily needs were protesting, but he hadn’t figured out what to do yet.

 

The problem on which he meditated had come to the forefront of Sherlock’s mind on his birthday, when John had gone above and beyond what was necessary to celebrate the anniversary of Sherlock’s existence.

 

John had baked a cake himself, no help from Mrs. Hudson or professional cake-bakers, which had been quite excellent. He’d cooked a dinner, which had been scrumptious, and Sherlock had eaten two helpings. John had bought Sherlock presents – _plural_. Then, after Sherlock had eagerly ripped the paper off of a new watch, a new pair of gloves, and tickets to the symphony, John had dragged him out to the pub, where others were waiting. Multiple people: Lestrade, Molly and her current boyfriend, Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford, even Sally Donovan. They’d had silly hats and streamers, laughing and singing at Sherlock as he entered, wishing him many happy returns. And then, after all that, John had taken Sherlock home and vigorously fucked him into the mattress, making his thirty-ninth a sincerely memorable occasion.

 

He understood why people bothered to celebrate birthdays now.

 

But that was back in January. Almost three months had passed and Sherlock needed to _do something_. The problem was, he had no idea what to do.

 

Whenever he thought about that day, and John, his chest felt tight and constricted. And then he thought about next year, and the year after that, and all the years after, and how much he wanted to spend every one of his birthdays with John, even if they weren’t as eventful and perfect as his thirty-ninth. Even if his thirty-ninth would forever be his _best_ birthday, he wanted to spend every single one with John. And not only that, he wanted spend all of John’s birthdays doing the same for him. John was turning forty-two in the summer, and already Sherlock was planning.

 

He needed to express this wish to John somehow. He knew that their relationship was a monogamous one, but they’d never really discussed it. They’d fallen into it naturally, without much talking about it. But Sherlock found, suddenly, that he wanted to talk about it very much.

 

Unfortunately, John wasn’t particularly good at the whole ‘talking about emotions’ bit, so Sherlock knew he’d have to be careful. This was a delicate matter. He couldn’t risk what he and John had, but he also needed to make it clear to John that he was in it for the long run.

 

He thought of retiring with John, of keeping bees and getting a dog, of going gray together, and he shivered with how much he wanted it.

 

“Are you planning on getting up sometime today?” asked John.

 

Sherlock ignored him. This was more important. He heard John sigh, both fond and exasperated, and he heard him calling for takeaway.

 

“I’m getting you food, so you better eat it,” he called from across the room.

 

There had to be a way to tell John about his thoughts. But not just _tell_ him, because despite his incapability of facing deep feeling, John was a romantic at heart. He had to _show_ John. He had to put on a show for John. He had to make John see that there was no one out there – no Sarah or Mary or Jeanette – that could possibly compare to Sherlock.

 

But how?

 

//

 

He decided to consult someone. After all, Sherlock was a consultant himself, and he knew the value of a second opinion. It didn’t quite take the sting out of having to ask, though.

 

He dithered between asking Lestrade or Mike Stamford for about twenty seconds before deciding on Lestrade. He knew Lestrade better and he knew Lestrade would know what to do. Despite his lack of relationship prowess – his marriage already crumbling – he had a vast amount of theoretical knowledge.

 

The next day, he went out while John was at work. He headed down to New Scotland Yard and barreled his way into Lestrade’s office.

 

“I need assistance,” he said, and Lestrade paled. Sherlock sighed, irritated, and rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, there’s no body to hide.” Lestrade visibly relaxed.

 

“Oh, good,” he said. “What can I help you with, then? Last time I checked, you thought all of my current cases were boring.”

 

“Not with a case,” said Sherlock. “With John.”

 

“With John?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You need help… with John?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“You… need… _help_?”

 

“Jesus Christ.” Sherlock sat down across from Lestrade. This was clearly going to take hours. “Yes! I require assistance with John.”

 

“I’m not following.”

 

“Clearly,” said Sherlock. He paused. “Do you remember my birthday?” Lestrade grinned.

 

“Parts of it,” he said. “Got a bit pissed towards the end, but I recall the best bits.”

 

“Well, it was… a good day,” said Sherlock. He eyed Lestrade pointedly.

 

“You want to plan a birthday party for John?”

 

“I planned that ages ago,” said Sherlock, waving aside the idea. “No, I… want to thank him.”

 

“So you go up to him, say, ‘thanks for a great birthday!’ Although if you haven’t done that yet, you’re a bit of a shit boyfriend.”

 

“ _No_ ,” snarled Sherlock, through clenched teeth. He was getting incredibly frustrated. “I want to explain to John, through actions, that I am both grateful for his efforts at my birthday and that I wish to spend all subsequent birthdays with him.”

 

Lestrade stared at him, and then a smile bloomed across his face. He looked so incredibly happy that Sherlock felt uncomfortable.

 

“Oh my god,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“You want to propose to John,” said Lestrade.

 

Ah, there it was. Sherlock knew he’d been missing something, something cultural. Marriage.

 

“I suppose that would… be a good way to express those feelings,” said Sherlock.

 

“D’you want help planning it? Some people go whole hog, y’know, singing and flash mobs, but I dunno if John would like that,” said Lestrade. “Maybe you should go more traditional. Dinner. Ring in the champagne. That kind of thing.”

 

“Why on earth would I put a ring for John in a drink that would make the ring sticky?” Lestrade shrugged.

 

“Things people do,” he said.

 

“I need to keep it simple,” said Sherlock decisively. “John gets uncomfortable with excessive shows of emotion. Something that will appeal to his proclivity towards romance but nothing that is too… extreme.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve got a good handle on it,” said Lestrade.

 

“You think?”

 

“Yeah,” he said.  Sherlock smiled. With Lestrade’s blessing, he felt more confident. He’d figure it out. He was a genius after all.

 

//

 

Less than a week later, Sherlock had prepared everything. He’d let Angelo know they’d be in that night, he’d tidied up the sitting room and the kitchen. All of his lab equipment was cleaned and put in its proper place. The fridge had absolutely no specimens in it. He’d even _dusted_ their bedroom.

 

“We’re going out to dinner,” he said as soon as John walked in the door after work.

 

“Are we really?” said John flatly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Alright. Do I have time to change?”

 

“If you’d like. There’s no hurry.”

 

“Well, if there’s no hurry, I’m going to shower, then,” said John. “A kid puked on me at the clinic and I feel like I’m coated in slime.” Sherlock laughed and John’s lips pulled into a small smile. His shoulders relaxed a bit and he walked over to the bathroom.

 

An hour later, John was showered and dressed, and they were off.

 

“Angelo’s?” asked John.

 

“Mmm,” said Sherlock.

 

“I noticed you cleaned,” he added.

 

“Astounding, John,” said Sherlock. “Maybe you should take over my job.” John chuckled.

 

“Appreciate it,” he said. “Just acknowledging and giving you positive reinforcement. Maybe you could even make it a habit.” Sherlock snorted. “Yeah, way too high of expectations there.”

 

Sherlock held the door when they got to Angelo’s. They slid into their usual seats – the same ones they’d sat in years ago on the night they moved in together – and Sherlock let his knee fall against John’s under the table. John looked at him in surprise. They didn’t touch much in public. But then John smiled and rubbed his knee against Sherlock’s and Sherlock’s stomach swooped with pleasure.

 

Sherlock got a bottle of wine with dinner.

 

“Are you serious? It’s a Tuesday!” said John.

 

“Just let me indulge,” said Sherlock, smiling. John held up his hands in defeat and accepted a glass.

 

John ordered the chicken parmesan. Sherlock ordered shrimp fettuccine. They talked, and laughed, and Sherlock wasn’t bored for a moment. He left his knee against John’s for the entire meal and reveled in the thought that soon they would be engaged, and soon after that, they would be married, and then Sherlock would never have to worry about John not knowing how he felt ever again.

 

When they’d finished, Sherlock helped John into his coat. They walked out into the still-chilly night air and Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He took John’s hand in his as they strolled back towards Baker Street.

 

“This was like a real date,” said John.

 

“It wasn’t _like_ a real date,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. John laughed softly.

 

“We just don’t go out on dates that much,” he said. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand.

 

When they were back in 221b, Sherlock offered to make tea. He didn’t do that very often, so John let him, reclining in his chair with a contented sigh. Sherlock made a lot of noise in the kitchen to cover up the fact that he pulled a ring box out of its hiding place behind the microwave. He got out the good set of teacups rather than just the plain mugs. He prepared John’s tea just as he knew John liked it and then brought it over.

 

“Wow, it’s the works today,” said John, laughing. “I’m wondering where all this is going.” He took a sip of the tea.

 

“It certainly is headed somewhere,” said Sherlock. Now was as good a time as any, since John had practically prompted him. Sherlock slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. He’d done his research. He slid down onto one knee in front of John in his chair.

 

“John,” he said, and John’s eyes had gone wide. “John, I just… wanted to say that, after my birthday this year, it became apparent that you and I are… as close to perfect for one another as two humans can be. I wanted to let you know that I take our relationship seriously, and I wanted to ask if you would marry me, so that we can receive certain tax benefits, visit each other in hospital without having to call my brother, and be assured of our affections for each other without having to ask. What do you think?” He pulled out the ring box and opened it to reveal a simple silver band.

 

John stared at him for a moment, utterly astonished, and then, suddenly, his brow was wrinkled. He clenched his teeth and glared at Sherlock.

 

“I cannot… believe you,” he growled.

 

“…What?” asked Sherlock, confused. This was not what he had expected as a response. He began to feel nervous. Perhaps he had miscalculated something.

 

“You are… the biggest _arse_ I have ever met,” said John, glaring at him. “I know you think the plebes and their revelry are below you and worthless, but I suppose I didn’t really consider myself one of those people. I should’ve _known better_.”

 

Now Sherlock was scared.

 

“What are you talking about? John, I want you to marry me!”

 

“Give it up, Sherlock!” snapped John. “I got your joke before you could make it. Thanks again for manipulating my feelings in order to make yourself look clever! Ha ha, what a right laugh. I’m going to _bed_. Thanks for the nice _evening_. It was _like_ a real date, wasn’t it?”

 

John stood, but Sherlock was on his feet before John could move away. He snapped the ring box shut and shoved it back into his pocket.

 

“John, wait, please listen, I’m confused,” he said, grabbing John’s arms. “Please, explain why you’re angry!”

 

“Why am I angry?” John laughed, but it was mirthless. “Hm, perhaps because my fucking _boyfriend_ , who has never once said anything along the lines of ‘ _I love you_ ,’ or ‘ _You mean everything to me_ ,’ or even ‘ _I appreciate your bloody companionship_ ,’ has just popped the question to me on _April first_.”

 

“So?”

 

“SO?” John stared at him. “I cannot believe you.”

 

“Why does it matter that it’s April first? Was there a deadline I missed? Did I have to say ‘I love you’ before I proposed? John, _what did I do wrong_?”

 

John’s expression changed. He looked at Sherlock for a long moment, and Sherlock waited. He would be patient. He needed to know what he had done wrong so that he could do it right the next time.

 

“Do you… Do you know what today is?” asked John quietly.

 

“You just said, April first,” said Sherlock.

 

“Well, yeah, but do you know what April first is?”

 

“Um… Well, this year it’s a Tuesday,” said Sherlock. He paused. “It’s also the deathday of William Frederick Horry. He murdered his wife and was the first man to be hanged by the long drop method in 1872.”

 

John stared at him in astonishment.

 

“Sherlock, it’s April Fool’s Day,” said John bluntly. “Y’know, the day where you pull pranks and laugh at people? Yell ‘April Fool’s!’ at your friends and have a go?”

 

The implications hit Sherlock full-force.

 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh dear.”

 

“Yeah,” said John. “Although I suppose I should’ve known you had deleted it. It’s not particularly relevant to anything you do.”

 

“Someone could probably commit a very clever crime and attempt to pass it off as a joke on a day devoted to pranks, though,” mused Sherlock. “Rather a shame no one’s thought of it yet.” John chuckled, then sobered and looked up at Sherlock.

 

“You were serious?” he said. “About the taxes and the… the affections thing?”

 

Sherlock moved in, laying a hand against John’s neck and brushing his lips against John’s.

 

“I meant every word,” he said, and then kissed John again. John’s hands moved quick as lightning, pulling Sherlock tight against him, kissing him fiercely.

 

“You bloody idiot,” said John, grinning against Sherlock’s mouth. “Of course I’ll bloody marry you. No April Fool’s.”

 

Immediately, Sherlock slotted his mouth against John’s again, letting John push his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. Oh, it felt so good, and it felt even better because they were _engaged_. “Wait!” he said, pulling away.

 

He reached into his pocket and brought out the ring box. He took the ring and slid it onto John’s finger – a perfect fit.

 

“I deduced the size of your ring finger last weekend when you had your fingers in my mouth,” said Sherlock, and John burst into laughter. He grabbed Sherlock’s face and kissed him soundly. Sherlock could feel the cold metal against his cheekbone and he was eager to get used to the feeling.

 

“You know what?”

 

“Probably,” said Sherlock. John rolled his eyes.

 

“You _know what_?”

 

“What?”

 

“You,” said John, “are insane. And I love you. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d quite like to shag my fiancé.”

 

“I don’t mind,” said Sherlock, letting his voice drop low the way he knew John liked. He saw his pupil dilate, heard John’s breath hitch, and in an instant, he was on his back on the floor. John was pulling at his shirt, running his hands all over Sherlock’s body and sucking kisses against his neck.

 

“Holy–” Sherlock managed before John took his mouth. He pulled back, yanking off his own jumper and shirt.

 

“We have to have all of the fun sex now,” said John. “Soon we’ll be married, and then we’ll just be having boring, married sex.” Sherlock laughed – that was untrue, he’d be sure to see to that, but he approved of John’s sentiment nonetheless.

 

John pulled open Sherlock’s trousers, shoved down Sherlock’s pants, and had his lips around Sherlock’s cock before Sherlock knew what was happening.

 

“Jesus fuck, John, Jesus _fuck_ ,” he moaned. It felt so good – the wet slide of John’s lips and John’s tongue twisting around the head of his cock. He’d just agreed to do this only with John for the rest of his life and he had no regrets whatsoever about that decision.

 

John popped off and grinned up at Sherlock. “It’s a reward for an excellent proposal,” said John. “A very _you_ proposal.” He put his hand on Sherlock, jerking him slowly with the spit for lubricant.

 

“You accidentally proposed on a day known for lies and deceits in the name of humour.” He twisted his wrist around the head of Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock didn’t bother to stifle his groan.

 

“You mentioned _taxes_ and your _brother_ while you were asking me to marry you.” John leaned back over and licked a stripe up the shaft.

 

“You made me very angry, as you frequently do.” John leaned over Sherlock and stuck two of his fingers into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock began sucking on them without a thought.

 

“But you bought me a ring. And you took me out on a date.” Sherlock moaned as John began to speed up his motions on Sherlock’s cock.

 

“You made me tea.” John pulled his fingers out of Sherlock’s mouth an slid his hand immediately down to Sherlock’s arse, his fingers teasing at the hole. Sherlock whined, attempting to thrust up, but there was no leverage with John seated on his legs.

 

“You talked about your affection for me,” said John, and one finger dipped into Sherlock’s body.

 

“Oh fuck, God, John, John,” said Sherlock in one exhale. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

 

“You asked me to marry you,” said John, and another finger joined the first.

 

 _Medical men_ , thought Sherlock. _They know exactly where to find what they’re looking for_.

 

John’s fingers lightly rubbed against Sherlock’s prostate a moment later and a stream of expletives left Sherlock’s mouth without Sherlock’s conscious thought.

 

John kept him there, in his hands and at his mercy, for what felt like ages. With hands and tongue, he kept Sherlock riding pleasure for so long that Sherlock began to whine, desperate for release.

 

“John, John, John, _please_ ,” he wailed. And then it happened as though in fast forward - John’s hands sped up, both on his cock and in his arse, and before he knew it, his orgasm was crashing over him, slamming against his mind in ecstasy, his body singing with pleasure as John wrung it out of him.

 

He came back to himself with John before him, using Sherlock’s semen on his own cock. Sherlock felt as though he was made of jelly, but he pulled himself into a sitting position, his hand falling on top of John’s as John worked himself. John grabbed Sherlock’s hair in his right hand, pushing Sherlock’s face against his in a bruising kiss. In moments, John was coming all over Sherlock’s chest.

 

“Fuck,” whispered John.

 

“Mmm,” agreed Sherlock, his head on John’s shoulder, leaving tiny kisses against John’s collarbone.

 

“Clean up?” asked John quietly. Sherlock nodded and let John pull him to his feet. His knees could barely support him, but he and John made it to the loo. They showered quickly – Sherlock was about to fall asleep – and slid into bed.

 

John gathered Sherlock into his arms.

 

“Good day?” muttered Sherlock, already half-asleep, eyes closed. He’d had a tiring set of weeks, trying to plan the perfect evening for John.

 

“Not bad,” said John, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

 

“I love you,” said Sherlock. He felt John smile.

 

“I love you too,” said John.

 

“You mean everything to me,” continued Sherlock. “And I appreciate your bloody companionship.” John giggled that high-pitched giggle he only let out when he was truly, unabashedly happy. Sherlock smiled.

 

“You as well, you nutter,” said John. “Now sleep. We have to start wedding planning in the morning.”

 

Sherlock found he didn’t dread it at all.


End file.
